A Field of Cherry Blossoms
by WinterWars
Summary: A series of KakaSaku drabbles which are also posted on my Tumblr and whatnot. Rated M, because kami only knows what's going to pop out of this rusty old think pan !
1. Late

_Ah hello and welcome to my first fanfiction on here! -throws cookies and love at.- Now, I do not own anything. Not the song lyrics used, they belong to the hunger games OSTS, Naruto and all characters belong to Masashi Kishimoto – I AM BUT A LOWLY COLLEGE STUDENT TRYING TO VENT SOME OF THE QUESTIONABLE ANGST LOCKED INTSIDE MY CHEST __**CRIES**_

_There were many things that Hatake Kakashi was ready for._

**With her cradled in his arms, his fingers wandering over her pale, perspiring skin and lips seeking out hers – they made love with such passion; with a tenderness that he himself couldn't believe. Every inch he had already explored with his eager fingers; his lips – drank in the breathtaking sight who lay writhing and panting beneath him. She was perfect.**

___**She got out her arrow and her bow,**_ ___**Her arrow and her string,**_ ___**And with it she went down to the forest deep,**_ ___**And sweetly she did sing sing,**_ ___**And sweetly she did sing,**_ ___**But up spoke a Mockingjay,**_ ___**Up from a willow tree.**_

**He was ready to face the day knowing she would be gone for a week with no contact. He looked forward to her return.**

**He'd been standing by the gate when they brought her home. Kakashi had expected a tired smile; a chaste kiss on the lips, and a feeble punch after he had prodded fun at the 'long mission perfume' she had acquired through lack of washing facilities. Instead, he'd been faced with sullen faces. A single stretcher was being carried behind the group of shinobi.**_____**A fatality? Sakura won't be happy about that**__**. **_**Yet he could not ignore the fear that twisted in his gut.**

**A solitary charcoal eye tried to search out the mess of pink hair that he'd grown to love. Brown, black, blonde – not pink. Each of the ANBU walked past, their heads hung low, and their eyes dull. The stretcher rolled past, and finally he saw it. She was sleeping, surely! He elbowed past, but strong arms grabbed him around the waist. They held him back. He struggled. They would not let him even close.**

**He needed to touch her – she'd be scared. Frightened. He needed to be with her. Desperation sunk in, but a hand rested against his shoulder and his protests were stilled. It hit him like a blade to the stomach; his guts spilled to the floor, yet… his eyes could not leave her body. Tsunade nodded to allow the other two shinobi to let him go. They obliged, and he was by her side in a flash.**

___**I'll send an arrow through your heart,**_ ___**For you to bring such news to me, me,**_ ___**To bring such news to me,**_ ___**But spoke up, spoke that Mockingjay**_ ___**Don't waste your time with me,**_ ___**Go home and mind that pretty little girl,**_

**Sakura's skin was ashen, and her lips blue. The two carrying the stretcher stopped, and their eyes closed. Kakashi's bare fingers touched against her forehead, and soon cupped his cheeks. His fallen love did not respond with a weak smile – what had he expected? For her to just sit up, smile, and console his aching heart? Impossible. His thumb traced the contours of her cheeks. There was blood on her lips; burgundy in age – she'd been dead for at least a day, his forehead rested against hers. He would not cry.**

**It was one of the rules in the Shinobi Guide – one that Sakura had fucked and bastardised on more than one occasion.**

**One that he would abide.**

**But there was a single thing he wouldn't be ready for.**

**This was a sight he had expected to see for Sasuke. Naruto, or even Sai. Never before did he think that the pink haired, green eyed girl would fall in battle. She'd always been a constant in his life – always there in the shadows, until she'd reached out, and filled his dark world with a light he could never have imagined.**

**How many times had she told him the same thing:**

___**Stay alive. Stay alive, for me.**_

**Yet here she lay – cold.**

**This was something… he hadn't been ready for.**

___**If she went home to her house that night,**_ ___**a house so cold and mean,**_ ___**she held her lover so close to her,**_ ___**and nevermore did she sing, sing.**_

—**-*—-**

**He had decided not to attend her funeral. If he could pretend that she wasn't gone… it would be easier to deny the fact that the light had faded from his life.**

**It had taken him a month to get up the courage to visit her stone. Sakura's parents had ensured that she had her own, and the flowers were fresh – yet not her favourites. Sakura loved lillies; water lillies, pink lillies especially. But as he did when speaking to his former team mates, he couldn't think of anything to say.**

**After all, he had never lost a lover before.**

**After a few moments of silence, a single phrase sprung to mind. Kakashi laid the flowers in front of her headstone.**

"**Sorry I'm late, Sakura."**

___**And never more did she sing.**_


	2. Come Away To The Water

Lore and myth always spoke of sprites. Evasive, and mischievous, they were often the fabrication of old wives' tales – words spun like lavish silk that allowed children's imaginations run wild in hope that they would spend the next day rooting through the long grass in the fields so that they might remain out of their mothers' hair for just a few hours. When they spoke of them, they always spoke of the water sprites. They were the most dangerous. Temperamental, they said. Their moods controlled the seas, remain calm one moment, and shift in the blink of an eye and cause storms that could make even the most experienced of fisherman quake and feel uneasy. For when their fragile tempers snapped, they were crossed off a list.

_With water sprites, there were no second chances._

The Devil's Washbasin, they called it. Where many men and women had met their demise beneath the iridescent pool; deep, and with a single willow tree brushing her green fingers over the surface. In this place, the silence was almost suffocating – as was the aura of sadness it held, like a quiet lament for those who had drowned in its crystalline waters. They never pulled the remains out of these waters, for despite the lake being relatively small they were never recovered. Wagging tongues spread vicious rumours that 'they' had taken them.

_Come away little lamb, come away to the water,_

He'd noticed her calling to him; it was quiet, like a silent serenade played only for his own ears to hear. The allure was like being stranded in a desert only to find oasis; as if life and survival meant finding the source of the tones pulling upon his very soul. It was melodious, and chimed like the distant sounds of bells upon silken slippers. Kakashi was always on his guard – an assassin of his calibre had to be, and considering the bounty placed above his head. He moved near silently though the lavish greenery. With every careful step he drew closer, the singing louder, and more desperate.

_To the arms that are waiting only for you,_

She had appeared from nowhere – translucent tendrils curving, and cupping around thin air as her head peeked above the surface, and his lone, obsidian eye met with a pair the colour of the brightest emeralds. She couldn't have been that old – eighteen, at most, nineteen from what he saw of her body when she had come to stand straight, her skin shone in the moonlight that peeped through the parting of the trees – an erethral shine, was she glowing? She was moving closer, long, elegant fingers reaching out to him. His feet complied, though his heart was drumming a sinister beat against his ribcage.

_Come away little lamb come away to the slaughter,_

With a single glance, he was her puppet. A simple smile had brought a flash of warmth to his stomach. Kakashi was moving to the water's edge. He dropped down into the water. The icy temperature was nothing, it bit at his toes, and his legs. But he could only focus on her; the angel in the water who was reaching out to him – he so desperately wanted – no! – needed to touch her, if only for a moment. Those white hands cupped his cheeks, her nose brushed against his, her lips whispered sweet nothing into his ear.

_To the one appointed to see this through_,

They were moving again. Down, until the water had submerged them both. He couldn't breathe – his lungs burned for air, his eyes stung – yet he could not take his eye off of her. Her fingers were gripping his shirt, her lips moving ferociously quickly, and all he could feel was her fingertips. Her lips upon his cheeks. He finally touched her. She disappeared.

And everything was dark.

No longer existing.

Gone.

The last words – finally words he could understand:

_You are mine._


End file.
